


Stories of the Lost Ones

by BrokenHeadphones



Series: Into the Woods [2]
Category: Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon & Comics)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2020-11-26 23:23:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20938484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrokenHeadphones/pseuds/BrokenHeadphones
Summary: There was a time before Pottsfield, before the Lantern, before the Beast.





	1. In the Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> I don't think it's necessary to read Into the Woods to understand this (though you totally should). The most important thing is that Wirt is the Lanternbearer and I'll add any other notes if I think anything else is important background information?

He remembered fire, most of all.

He remembered other things too--screams, thatched roofs collapsing on wooden buildings. Remembered that calico barncat, who had always seemed to know he was aware, brushing against him one last time before darting away.

He remembered existing and then fire and then nothingness incarnate and then he was here. Wherever here was. He was surrounded by trees, and his body rustled.

He could move.

He could _move_.

He didn't know where he was, he was even more confused now, but he straightened from the snowy ground and looked around. Trees as far as the eyes could see, and no direction to go in. He paused, then picked a direction and started moving. He wouldn't get anywhere by waiting.

It was some indeterminate amount of time later--the false sun never seemed to move to display the passing of time. Even if it did move, he was certain that the steady darkness would have easily devoured the hours. He settled in a clearing, shifting his attention to his tattered streamers--he could worry further about the false sun when he had established some sort of home and he could heal the streamers torn and frayed from the underbrush. He curled in on himself in some sort of rest. He didn’t need sleep, per se--or rather, exhaustion didn’t seem to be a physical concern—but he was lost and alone and he didn’t need his mind fraying like his body. And then he heard the sound of rustling. He glanced up to see a figure approaching the clearing. A head peeked through the spotty veil of shadows that fell from the nearly barren trees. The wind whispered for a moment, disrupting the otherwise perfect quiet. A voice, a curt breeze, then spoke up, “Who are you?”

He paused. Names flew to the forefront of his mind, from conversations and memories--Annabelle, Peter, Christian, Margaret--and he shook his head to clear the herd of voices. The creature before him entered the clearing in full, cocking its flower-adorned head in clear curiosity.

After a moment, he remembered a small black kitten that had often gotten tangled up in his streamers.

“Enoch,” he responded with a rustle. The creature before him kneeled at his side, staring with wide, bright eyes. They reminded Enoch of the false sun above them.

“What are you?” it asked. “You don't seem to be a forest dweller.”

To answer would be to imply he knew what he was. He only knew that he one day existed and another day burned and was now here.

“I'm not,” Enoch agreed instead. “What about you? Who are you?”

There was a pause. Then the creature shrugged, “I don't know.”

Enoch puffed, “Well, that just doesn't seem right. To give you my name without getting one in return.”

“You don't need a name when you're alone,” the creature responded. Its eyes dimmed for a moment. “Give me a name then.”

Enoch paused. He barely knew what to call himself, and didn’t know where to begin naming something else, especially something so…strange. It looked like the humans who had surrounded him and yet its outer layers seemed vastly different, wooden and mossy while the humans had looked soft and sometimes slightly…furry? The creature in front of Enoch crossed its arms, then, and Enoch wasted little time after filling the silence with an answer: “Life.”

Well, that would be the simplest translation of his rustling. And though it was silly, looking back, it fit who the creature had been.

The creature paused, seemingly surprised. But then it accepted the answer, “Life? That’s…interesting.”

“You’re the one who made me decide all of a sudden.”

“No, it’s nice,” Life replied, tilting its head. “It will do for now.”

(It had done for then, and Life had over the years gone through more than a few names, eager to adopt names as it came across them—it would be Annabelle one day and Dog the next, indiscriminate of Enoch’s insistence that names were Forever.)

The two had become fast friends after that. Despite Life's insistence that it preferred being alone because it was used to it, Life seemed to enjoy showing Enoch around the forest, and Enoch very much appreciated another soul around to help him get used to where he had found himself.

It was on one of those journeys when Life froze. Enoch paused in kind and tilted his head in confusion. He rustled out a question, and Life creaked in reply, "There's a person nearby. We wait."

"Wait?" Enoch asked. "Why?"

"People," it responded, "are not to be trusted. They burble too much, and then they chase you when you reply."

"The people I remember spoke. Maybe they just can't understand and get scared?"

"Why should they be scared? They're the ones who hurt me!”

Enoch rustled around Life in an attempt to soothe it, then froze when he heard a twig snap. Life flinched at the sound, and stepped away when the disturbance whimpered. A small voice that made Enoch think of little Nissy. He half-expected to see a familiar brown plait when he shifted away from Life, but when he finally moved through the trees enough to find the source of the noise, it was a blonde girl. She sniffed when she saw him, and stood, her dress dirty and her knees lightly scraped. So she had tripped, poor thing. After a moment, her small voice spoke, “G-good day, sir.”

Enoch gave a nod that he hoped was encouraging. He never learned how to make the noises humans did, and he never met any humans who didn’t talk to communicate.

“Are you lost? We don’t usually see anyone around here.”

Enoch shook his head. The girl hesitated before taking a step back, “Well, I’m looking for a place to hide for now, so I bid you good day.”

A hiding spot? Life had shown him a few good spots where small ones could hide, and while that was usually for Life’s hunting, Enoch had little doubt that the girl could fit. He reached slowly for her, and it was probably a good thing that she was curious and perhaps too young to be fearful of strangers in the woods. She took a step forward and took one of his outstretched streamers. He started to lead her to the hiding spot, and she froze briefly. After a moment, she smiled, “Thank you, Enoch. My sister will never find me there!”

She let go and ran off through the woods in the direction of the spot, and Enoch paused before slithering back to Life. Life was very visibly cross with him, from his posture to the bright glare in its eyes.

“Oh, don’t be like that,” Enoch shifted. “She was harmless.”

“Humans are dangerous.”

“She was playing hide-and-seek.”

“What does that even mean?”

Enoch started to explain the concept of the game, but Life didn’t let him get far before it turned on its heels and started to walk through the woods. It ignored Enoch’s attempt at conversations, and he very quickly gave up. He was used to silence and he was used to being silent, and this was a vast improvement still from when he was held aloft and stationery.

It was hours later that Life finally spoke, “She could have hurt you.”

“She was a sweet thing, really.”

“You’re going to get yourself pulled apart and strung up by your streamers if you try to interact with everyone.”

“You’re worried,” Enoch didn’t know if he was stating it or asking. Life didn’t respond.

Enoch paused his story when the barn door opened, and the Beast slid into the building. He shut the door behind him and barely made a few steps in before his legs seemed to wobble. Enoch barely let him fall a centimetre before his streamers were wrapping around him. He half-heartedly fought against it, though Enoch was sure it more had to do with the living one’s presence (his Beast was so proud and worried about appearances, and it was amusing to a degree, but Enoch just wanted to be able to crush his fading Life with affection).

The living one was staring, now, and the Beast noticed.

“What?” he demanded. He glanced between Enoch and the living one, before settling his glare on Enoch. “What did you do?”

“He was curious and I very much enjoy telling stories.”

“_What_ did you tell him?”

“I was talking about when I first came to the Unknown, of course.”

The Beast paused, then glared at the living one, “You’ll forget all of it, Wirt, and listen to no more of Enoch’s nonsense.”

“Did you really go by ‘Dog’ at one point?” the living one blurted, quite like he physically couldn’t hold it back. The Beast tensed before burying his face in his hands, and the temperature in the barn raised by a significant few degrees. Even as the living one loosened his collar, Enoch chuckled at his Life’s embarrassment and curled tighter around him as night faded to dawn.


	2. Daisies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had this half-written before October even began and yet the thought of having a reliable posting schedule is still beyond me. Oops.

“When you were speaking to Wirt,” the Beast creaked at the cat in his lap, “Did you…what did you discuss?”

The living one had left earlier that evening to watch over the fields or some such busywork, and the two of them had sat in companionable silence ever since. The cat paused at the interruption, and then fell limp. Enoch took over the maypole—it was much easier to converse in that form.

“When we first met—you remember that, I trust?”

Enoch had expected the Beast to give a scoffing ‘of course,’ but there was a pause and then the Beast shook his head.

“I don’t. Or rather, that is to say…sometimes I do, sometimes my memory is muddled.”

Life was tense with the admission, fidgeting with Enoch’s streamers, and Enoch curled around it.

“Well, I’m not too surprised. You never did have much use for memory—you were very present, in a way that I admired,” Enoch replied. “You seemed to belong to the forest.”

“I remember bits. You made me a crown of daisies.”

“I did, indeed.”

“You made me…a lot of things,” the Beast added. Enoch gave another nod.

There was a pause, and then the Beast broke the silence again, “Tell me about the daisies.”

“It won’t be dull to recount your own memories?”

“You always were a storyteller at heart.”

“Well, then,” Enoch hummed before starting.

Enoch had been in the Unknown for maybe a month by that point—the fake sun didn’t wax or wane like the one in the other world, so it was more of a feeling rather than a certainty. Life, who was at that point going by either Lawrence or Rosebush, was relaxing in a small clearing, half-asleep in the daylight, flowers twisting gently up his moss-covered limbs. He had always attracted living things in those days, plant and creature alike leaning to him. Enoch understood the allure, perhaps too well.

Enoch approached him, and almost woke him before deciding against it. He instead dragged himself up the tree without disturbing Life, and let his streamers dangle in the wind. He let himself rest for a moment. Then another. Then—then he got restless and brushed his streamers against Life’s head. Life continued to rest undisturbed. Enoch shoved him, as best as he could from his perch in the tree. Nothing. Enoch rustled impatiently, wishing that he had the ability to shout as humans did. Nothing riled Life up more than the sound of a human, and _that_ would surely wake him. And Enoch was much too light to use his weight to break any of these branches. He glanced around, caught sight of a squirrel.

It should have been noted then, that Enoch was not quite so, how to put it…domesticated.

“You threw a squirrel at me,” the Beast accused. “I remember that now!”

“Well, to be fair,” Enoch replied. “You weren’t waking up.”

“I shall keep that in mind the next time you rest,” the Beast huffed, running a hand over the cat body that still rested in his lap. “Or maybe I’ll just toss _you_.”

“Oh, hush, you’re much too dignified to do such a thing,” Enoch teased. “You would force the living one to do it, at worst.”

“I am _quite_ capable of doing my own dirty work, I assure you.”

“I’m sure you’re capable. I much rather meant that such a thing is beneath you now, wouldn’t you agree?”

“You would like me to agree, wouldn’t you?” the Beast responded, his hand stilled over the cat’s tail. “But revenge does justify a certain level of immaturity, I would say.”

Enoch paused, unsure for a moment if the Beast _was_ joking. But then the Beast laughed, a harsh yet somehow delighted thing, and his eyes brightened, “Enoch, did the cat get your tongue? One might think you were genuinely concerned.”

“If you, dear Beast, are making such obvious puns, I think I am genuinely concerned.”

The Beast gave another bark of laughter, relaxing into Enoch’s streamers as he continued to pet Enoch’s feline host. After a moment, he spoke again, “I suppose age has tampered with my humour. Or maybe you and Wirt have finally laid ruin to my sanity.”

“I’m sure you had your moments in our youth.”

“I _was_ the joke, more often than not. You were incorrigible—”

“Hush, now. The living one will return soon, I’m sure, and I’d rather not fill his head with the worst of my exploits. I have my dignity, just as you have yours.”

“So you would rather that I didn’t tell him of the time you turned yourself inside out trying to trap a rabbit?”

“If I ever called you respectful, dignified, or mature, I take it back.”

The Beast chuckled, letting his eyes slip closed. Enoch filled the barn with a dull hum, barely audible over the sounds of the late afternoon forest and the quieted bustle of Pottsfield. Life’s hand slowly stilled. When the living one opened the barn door and leaned against it with a particular sigh that spoke of either a small little mill or a visit to the other world, Life hardly even shifted, and Enoch wondered when he had started sleeping so soundly again, the way he had before the Lantern.

He chose to interpret it as well-earned relaxation or deep-rooted exhaustion rather than a sign of Life’s inevitable…weakening without the Lantern.


End file.
